"Fuku-chan is absent today," Mayaka said off-handedly. "Isn't this the third day in a row?"
"The fourth," Houtarou replied blandly. Mayaka almost believed he was bored, before catching the quick rhythm his heel beat out on the floor, belying his true feelings on the matter. He really had to fix that habit or else more people would discover he actually possessed emotions.
When Satoshi hadn't come to school one day, Houtarou hadn't given it a second thought. After all, databases had points when they were offline, and Satoshi was no different.
Now, however, the unknown status of their local bundle of energy was definitely disconcerting. Usually Satoshi notified them all of prearranged absences, and whenever he caught colds, he bounced back the next day. This lack of information for such a long period was unprecedented and Houtarou, for one, didn't know what to do.
Naturally, Chitanda roped him into figuring out where the last of their quartet had run off to, but before they could even begin to investigate on the start of the fifth day, Satoshi slid into the clubroom with an apologetic smile on his face.
"Sorry, sorry, I went on a trip with my family and forgot to say something," was his excuse. The girls passed it off as an instance of absentmindedness. Houtarou, on the other hand, was not impressed, continuing to observe.
His vigilance was rewarded by an almost imperceptible slip; for a split second, a whirlwind of emotions crossed over Satoshi's face, emotions that were completely un-Satoshi-like and left Houtarou reeling despite the brief exposure.
"What was that?" Houtarou hissed, ensuring their female friends couldn't hear.
"What was what?" Satoshi chirped, expression benign once more.
Houtarou squinted, unable to find the crack once more, and sighed. "Nothing at all."
.
.
The next day, Satoshi entered the room sporting bandages on seven of his ten fingers.
"What happened to you?" Mayaka asked, worry creeping into her eyes.
"I had a fight with a needle. We're no longer on speaking terms," Satoshi joked back, hands clasped, relaxed, behind his head.
That was when Houtarou spotted it—an unassuming flash of white peeking out from behind the boy's sleeve. As they all packed and left, Houtarou grabbed Satoshi by the wrist. "Hey, you two go on ahead," he called to the girls, "I need to ask Satoshi something."
They gave him strange looks, but followed his instructions. Once he was sure they were alone, he fixed his gaze on Satoshi. "Explain why there's a bandage on your wrist."
"I fell," Satoshi responded automatically.
"Why didn't you say something?"
"It wasn't important. It'll heal soon."
"Of course it's important, idiot. Where did you fall?"
"Down the stairs."
"Can I see it?"
"No."
Not one to press the subject, Houtarou reluctantly let go.
As the other boy snatched his arm back almost violently, Houtarou's eyes watched closely. Satoshi seemed to withdraw into himself as he cradled his arm protectively, and though he had always been small, now he looked unhealthily so, with an odd pale coloring to his skin that Houtarou swore wasn't there a few minutes before.
If he was honest with himself, Houtarou couldn't remember there being a shred of exhaustion or illness present in Satoshi's features for quite some time, but the purple shadows under the boy's eyes and the aforementioned pallor couldn't have come over night.
Had it really been that long since he'd taken a good look at his best friend?
"Are you okay?" Houtarou asked tentatively, unused to voicing his concerns.
Satoshi transformed then, as if he was constructing a doll, making sure every feature was perfect; a smile was pasted onto his lips, a dash of starlight dotted his eyes, and the colors on his body and clothes were washed with a bright, rosy tint. He even seemed to grow a few centimeters taller. The shadows disappeared from every corner of his being, and once Houtarou blinked, nothing was out of place, as if all the flaws had been his imagination.
"Nothing's wrong; why do you ask?" Even Satoshi's voice had changed, taking on a cheerful lilt completely unlike the quiet, husky tone from moments before.
Houtarou swallowed, his throat suddenly dry, his mind disoriented. "No reason."
.
.
They didn't talk on the way home. It was fairly normal for them to walk home in silence, since Satoshi knew Houtarou was exhausted from the day and would prefer not to waste any energy with mindless chatter, but in this case, the silence was utterly uncomfortable. Houtarou was glad when they parted ways, but he kept watching Satoshi's back as it grew smaller and smaller, the make-over from before not wearing off even without anyone to witness it.
How much of Satoshi was real and how much was a façade? Houtarou thought he knew the boy, but something was happening that he had no control over. When did it start? Did anyone else notice? Was Satoshi even conscious of it? Questions swam around Houtarou's head as he trudged the rest of the way home, almost walking straight into his closed front door.
"Welcome home," Tomoe called from the couch. When he didn't make his usual grunt of acknowledgement, she frowned and followed him to his room. "Hey, did something happen at school? You're even less responsive than usual."
Houtarou groaned, wilting face down onto his bed.
"Do you want to talk about it?" his sister asked, sitting on the edge of his bed and running her hand through his hair.
"I can't talk about it if I don't understand it myself," he mumbled into his pillow.
"Well, if you need me, I'll be in the den." With a final ruffle of his hair, she left him alone to sort out his thoughts.
When the door closed, Houtarou rolled over to stare at his ceiling. What did he even have to work with? A four day absence, carelessness, bandages, a split persona, lies. What was real? That seemed to be the ultimate question. He'd always thought Satoshi was an open person, easily read like a book, but now he wasn't sure.
His friend was a mystery, one Houtarou couldn't solve. He needed more evidence, more clues. One thing was certain; he would be watching Satoshi like a hawk from now on. For once, he didn't need Chitanda to pique his interest—this was personal.
.
.
The next day, though he kept an eye on Satoshi, Houtarou couldn't find anything wrong. It was as if yesterday was a fluke meant to be dismissed. He, however, wouldn't accept it; Satoshi's transformation had been too practiced, too perfect to have been a one-time thing. No, it was the result of a perpetual lie, of countless cracks and as many repairs. If Houtarou couldn't detect the cracks, he would simply expose the mask for what it was.
Houtarou hated confrontation, especially since there was no good way to bring it up. Thankfully it didn't come to that yet.
"Fukube-san, you seem tired. Are you sleeping well?"
Apparently Chitanda had a keener eye for cracks, even though she didn't even realize what she had found.
Satoshi seemed surprised; after all, the slip had been imperceptible to all but one. Houtarou looked as closely as he could, finding the small lines of fatigue that Chitanda had apparently spotted. Then, the spell was broken, and he could suddenly see all the cracks—the droop to Satoshi's eyelids, the abrupt prominence of his dark circles, the wrinkles in his sleeves from where he had no doubt been sleeping on them during class.
Satoshi noticed them as well, and within seconds of Houtarou seeing them, all the cracks were smoothed out and ironed over. It was almost like a work of art, how Satoshi simply stitched himself back up until there was no sign of a seam.
"I don't know what you mean. I don't feel the least bit sleepy." Satoshi smiled at Chitanda, and she seemed to forget she had seen anything at all.
However, Houtarou didn't forget. He couldn't confront Satoshi on a moment of exhaustion, though. He needed something more.
.
.
"Fuku-chan," Mayaka said carefully the next day, "is something wrong?"
Satoshi turned his attention to her and smiled. "No. Why do you ask?"
Her eyes narrowed, as if squinting would help her understand. "There are moments when you don't quite seem yourself. Your face gets all dark, and it's a little scary. You're being really careful with your arm, too."
Satoshi didn't even miss a beat. "Ah, you caught me. I hurt my wrist the other day when I fell down the stairs. It still kind of hurts."
Mayaka's momentary suspicion was replaced with immediate concern. "Are you okay? Should you be putting ice on it?"
"Yeah, I already put ice on it. It'll be okay in a couple of days; don't worry. Until then, I have to be careful, but sometimes I twist it funny and it hurts."
"Well, take care of yourself and stop falling down stairs. You can be pretty clumsy, Fuku-chan."
Her attention was averted to Chitanda, and the two began talking about something else entirely.
Houtarou's eyes stayed on Satoshi though, as the other sighed, a hand coming up to massage his wrist. A blank glaze came over his eyes, and Houtarou thought he looked entirely lifeless. That look wasn't one of pain. It was something else, something Houtarou couldn't quite put his finger on. However, it sent chills down his spine how completely alien his friend looked, and he was the only one who truly noticed.
Something had to be done.
.
.
"You might be able to pull the wool over Chitanda and Ibara's eyes, but you won't fool me."
The girls had left them long ago, and Houtarou was following Satoshi to his house, knowing full well that his parents weren't home and wouldn't be for some time. It was rude, inviting himself over when Satoshi clearly didn't want him there, but there were more important things than social propriety.
"What do you mean, 'fool you'? I wasn't trying to fool you about anything." Satoshi's voice sounded so innocent; Houtarou almost felt guilty for this confrontation—almost.
"Don't play dumb. Something's bothering you—has been for a while I'd bet. I'm not sure what you're hiding, but I intend to find out."
"This isn't like you, Houtarou. Since when do you actively seek out trouble?"
"Since it involves you doing something that's weirder than normal."
"Weirder than normal? I'm hurt, Houtarou."
"You clearly enjoy being different. Or is that fake as well?"
"I have no idea what you mean."
"Satoshi."
"What?" Satoshi's tone was coarser, and Houtarou felt somewhat triumphant in bringing it out from under the layers of disguise.
They had reached the Fukube home. "Can I come in?" Houtarou asked at the door.
Satoshi shrugged, unable to find a legitimate excuse to force his friend away.
They slipped off their shoes quietly. Houtarou didn't know what Satoshi was thinking, but now that he was alone with the brunette, he didn't quite know how to bring up his evidence.
"Houtarou, really, what do you want? You never come here without me asking you at least five times. Is something wrong?"
How did this get turned around on him? How convenient that Satoshi forgot their conversation from just a few minutes before.
"I could ask you the same question," he shot back. For once he chose to be assertive, stepping closer and closer to Satoshi and pressing him against a wall. "You're acting strange, and I'm annoyed that you keep denying it."
Satoshi continued the act, undeterred by being trapped between a wall and Houtarou's body. "I deny it because there really isn't anything wrong."
Houtarou admired his persistence, but it was counterproductive to his purpose. "How long are you going to keep it up?" he growled. "You're normally so careful, but you fell down the stairs. You pricked your fingers in Handicrafts Club when most days you're the only one that didn't get on the wrong side of your needle. I know because you're pretty proud of it whenever it happens. You're exhausted, and I'm sure you sleep in class, and you're constantly thinking about something that sends your mind miles away. Then there's this strange darkness that passes over your face, and suddenly, it's like I'm not looking at you anymore."
"Do you actually have any proof?"
Houtarou retreated half a step, partially because no, he didn't have any solid proof, but also because Satoshi was actually glaring at him with hostile intent and it was decidedly unnerving on the boy's normally docile face.
"I-I don't need proof; it's written all over your face," he stuttered. "If you look in the mirror—"
"That's all just circumstantial evidence—completely subjective. I'm a database; I deal with facts. If you can't give me facts, then we have nothing further to discuss." The smaller boy tried pushing past his taller companion, but Houtarou refused to budge. "Houtarou, move."
"No. Not until you tell me what's wrong."
"I said there's nothing wrong. You're not usually this dense, Houtarou."
"Satoshi—"
Pushing Satoshi hadn't been a good idea; Houtarou had been aware of that from the beginning. He hadn't expected the boy to kick his feet out from under him though. Houtarou didn't even realize he was falling until his back collided with the hardwood floor, knocking the air from his lungs.
As he coughed and spluttered to refill his chest with oxygen, Satoshi towered over him, looking down his nose without a hint of remorse in his eyes for hurting his friend.
"Houtarou, stop looking into other people's affairs. We've been around Chitanda-san too much—she's rubbing off on you. I like you better as a passive energy conservationist."
"You expect me to stop after you sent me crashing to the floor?" Houtarou wheezed, breathing functions not quite back to normal.
Satoshi shrugged. "You were forcing me against a wall. I had every right to do that."
"Whatever—I've had enough of this," Houtarou snarled, getting to his feet. "I don't have nearly enough energy to deal with you. If you want to push me away that badly, then I'll let you—for now."
Satoshi met the other's scowl with one of his own. "Fine. Get out," he spat out, each word filled with venom.
Houtarou put on his shoes without another word. At the door, he glanced back. Satoshi met his gaze, daring him to try coming back in. His hands curled into shaking fists at his sides, and the fire in his eye promised one or both of those fists would come in contact with Houtarou's body if he returned.
In his fury, though, the light-haired teen had failed to maintain his external shell. Houtarou wished he had a camera to capture his so called evidence, to show Satoshi and point out the tired lines under his eyes, the dullness of his irises, the gauntness of his cheeks, the too-white skin.
But he knew the boy would still deny it. So he closed the door behind him, hoping he had simply imagined the fleeting image of tears falling from Satoshi's eyes.
.
.
Houtarou was in a stormy mood the following day. Even his teachers seemed to sense something and avoided calling on him the whole day. He glared out the window for the duration of his lessons, wondering if he could channel the sunny day outside to calm himself down. He never got past wondering though, and ended up stalking up to the clubroom in the same mood he had come to school in.
"What's with you, Oreki?" Mayaka asked immediately upon seeing his tempestuous expression.
"Absolutely nothing," he grumbled, not fooling anyone. "Where's Satoshi?"
"He said he had a headache and went home. Did something happen between you two?"
"Not at all." That was the problem; nothing had happened, and Houtarou was still worried while Satoshi was still in denial.
"Oreki-san looks angry," Chitanda whispered a little too loudly to Mayaka.
"Yeah, I don't think I've ever seen him like this. I wonder what happened. " Mayaka whispered back.
Houtarou ignored them after that, hoping his book would perhaps provide some sort of comfort.
.
.
Houtarou never thought to go to Mayaka or Chitanda. He knew they could have helped, but he didn't want to turn the entire club against Satoshi for fear that the boy would just run away even faster and farther.
Still, he really couldn't ignore it much longer. Satoshi continued avoiding him, although not in the conventional sense. They acted as normal, but Houtarou could feel the emotional distance the smaller boy put between them. Not one single strand of hair was out of place anymore, not one wrinkle present in his uniform, and that pasted-on smile rarely left his face. He was, for all purposes, the normal Satoshi. Houtarou, however, couldn't help but feel he was interacting with a doll, a doll perfect in every way—except that it wasn't real.
Houtarou knew a little bit about dolls though. His sister had owned plenty when she was younger. No matter how careful she had been with them, they always managed to break one way or another. Sometimes it was a small break—the dress got caught on a table corner and tore, or one of the blinking eyes didn't work anymore. Then there were bigger breaks; large fissures appearing on the doll's face from accidentally dropping it, or the entire head of hair falling off because a certain little brother tugged on it one too many times. Therefore, if he simply waited long enough, somewhere along the line Satoshi would break. As much as it pained him, if Satoshi wouldn't let him in, he would force his way in through patience.
Eventually, Satoshi came in through the door of the clubroom with his usual sunny smile on full blast. As soon as he did so, Chitanda perked up, sniffing the air.
"Fukube-san, you smell strange," she commented, wrinkling her nose. "It's almost like metal."
"We were moving a lot of desks around today at the Student Council," Satoshi replied, taking a seat across from her. "I probably still have some of the smell on my hands."
Chitanda appeared thoughtful, as if the answer wasn't enough for her, but then smiled. "It's good that you were helping out like that. It must have been tiring."
"Oh, you have no idea," he said dramatically. "Each desk was a challenge to lift, let alone move. Good thing I'm a pretty strong guy, right?"
Houtarou and Mayaka rolled their eyes while Chitanda seemed amused. "We all thank you for your services," she giggled.
They lapsed into a silence then—since they really had no real objectives and hadn't since the cultural festival—reading their own respective books or finishing homework.
It looked like it was another regular day for the Classics Club. When the clock read five, Chitanda snapped her book shut, saying she was going to go on ahead since she had to help her parents with something or other that Houtarou didn't really understand from the rushed explanation. After she left, more than half an hour passed until Mayaka suggested they leave as well, since they weren't doing anything as it was.
Then the break occurred. If Houtarou had been watching their lives as a movie with different characters, Satoshi probably would have predicted it before hand.
As they all stood up and turned to the door, Satoshi's legs gave out under him, suddenly unable to support his weight, and his entire body crumpled to the floor in a heap, leaving Houtarou and Mayaka still standing, wide-eyed and gaping.
A beat, and the shock wore off, and they were by his side, trying desperately to revive him.
"Fuku-chan, please, wake up!" Mayaka cried to no avail. "Why won't he answer, Oreki?"
"He's out cold," Houtarou grimaced. There was sweat on Satoshi's forehead, his breath came in short gasps, and the sickly pallor had returned. It almost made Houtarou physically ill to think it had come to this.
He caught sight of a shine in the light, a reflection off Satoshi's sleeve. For a moment, he thought it was just the button on the cuff, but it was much too large an area to be a button. Houtarou gingerly put his hand on the boy's wrist, the fabric damp against his skin. He lingered for a moment, refusing to jump to conclusions, before slowly bringing his hand back and turning it to see his palm.
His hand had been dyed red. His fingers shook as he stared at them, unable to comprehend what was going on. Mayaka had the presence of mind to call the hospital, speaking frantically into her cell phone.
The tremors that began in his fingertips quickly spread to Houtarou's whole body. He felt nauseous, his head swimming in vertigo, and his clean hand shot to his mouth to prevent himself from vomiting.
Steeling himself, he carefully pulled up Satoshi's sleeve. All he could see was red. The normally white bandage had been stained with what could only be blood. The wound had to be recent, and Houtarou cringed to think how it had gotten there.
Mayaka was crying. After hanging up the phone, she chose to ignore her general dislike of Houtarou in favor of bodily comfort, leaning into his side and burying her face into his shoulder. Her tears soaked into his uniform, and he could only think about Satoshi's sleeve, soaked in blood.
His hand lay limp at his side, resting on the floor palm up. He didn't want to look at it, covered in blood, but it couldn't stay that way. Even now, he could feel the air of the room circulating around, flitting around his hand and cooling the coat of liquid on it, sending more shivers through his body.
When the paramedics arrived, Houtarou's first thought was how Mayaka deserved an award for being able to give accurate directions to their remote Geology Prep Room while under such stress. Such thoughts were a welcome alternative to thinking about the number of people crowded around his friend's still body, trying to wake him.
"Young man, are you all right?"
Green eyes refocused on the young woman gazing at him with concern. She was slightly older than his sister, likely fresh out of college, and Houtarou would have preferred guessing her life story instead of replying because he had no answer. Was he okay? Was he allowed to not be okay? His best friend was bleeding out on the floor just a few feet away while he himself didn't have a scratch on him. In comparison, he was just peachy.
"Young man?"
"…I don't know."
Her patronizing, sympathetic smile was slightly infuriating. Realizing he was still in shock, she turned her attention to the girl still burrowed into his shoulder. Though puffy-eyed and close to hysterics, Mayaka was much more responsive to the other woman, relieved to have someone to talk to.
Houtarou, on the other hand, didn't want comfort. He felt he didn't deserve it, he who allowed it to get this far. He had seen the signs; why didn't he tell someone? Had he thought it would pass over? Did he have some hero complex that made him think he was enough? Obviously it had been well out of his control, much more dangerous than he had anticipated.
A hand touched his shoulder, waking him from his stupor. Mayaka. She had calmed down considerably, though she still looked about ready to burst into tears again. "Oreki," she sniffed. "They're getting ready to move him. Can you go to the hospital with them? I need to call Fuku-chan's parents and Chii-chan."
That was Mayaka, always reliable, even in times of crisis. It was better this way; if he tried calling even one person, he had no idea how he would break the news.
He nodded. Her lips twitched upwards in what could be called a smile. Houtarou liked it better than the one the young lady was still giving him as she led him out the door after the stretcher. Mayaka's was much less clinical.
It was fortunate that, when Satoshi had fainted, it was at the end of the day when there was only a handful of students to watch as Satoshi was wheeled through the halls and down stairs. The event would surely be mentioned the next day, but at least the spread would be limited.
The rest of the day was a blur, consisting primarily of waiting in white-walled rooms that Houtarou felt guilty for even being in for fear of contaminating the sterility. Even when Mayaka and Chitanda entered the room with Satoshi's parents, no one spoke much, though Houtarou, for one, felt significantly more at ease with his two friends around.
It was quite some time before a doctor saw to them, long enough that Houtarou was sure the sun had gone down long ago despite the lack of a watch or windows.
"Satoshi-kun will be fine," he reassured them all with an amiable smile, one similar to the young female paramedic. "He's lucky he has such good friends that got him help so quickly."
"But why did it happen?" Satoshi's mother asked. Houtarou didn't see much of Satoshi's parents as they both worked, but he knew them both to be lovers of life and perpetually cheerful, much like their son. The idea that any member of the Fukube family was close enough to death to land himself in a hospital was a tragedy in itself.
The smile faded off the doctor's face. "That's what I'd like to talk about," he explained. "Has Satoshi-kun had any troubles at home or at school?"
All five people present shook their heads. "Satoshi has always been a happy child," his father replied. "He's never been trouble at home."
"Most people like him at school," Mayaka remarked, "and those that don't simply keep their distance."
"I have reason to believe the issue is internal," Houtarou said quietly. The others all turned to him.
"What do you mean?" the doctor asked.
"I don't know how many people noticed, but Satoshi has been acting strange for the past couple of months. He's withdrawn and distant, yet still keeping up appearances. It's an odd duality that even I, as one who noticed it for what it was in the first place, had trouble wrapping my head around it."
"You knew this and you didn't tell us?" Mayaka asked softly, sounding hurt.
"I wasn't sure if I was looking at the ghost or the withered grass in the wind."
Satoshi's mother patted him gently on the shoulder. "You had no way of knowing, Houtarou-kun."
"Excuse me, but what happened to Fukube-san?" Chitanda cut in.
Mayaka bit her lip and looked away. Houtarou closed his eyes, not willing to deal with naivety that was out of his control. The Fukube couple sent twin looks of sorrow at the doctor. Chitanda was the only one still in the dark.
"The reason Satoshi-kun collapsed was due to blood loss from a series of cuts on his wrist." The doctor took a deep breath before continuing, "This isn't the first time his wrist has been cut. There are numerous scars running all along his forearm, some fairly old, others recent, and I'm almost completely certain they are all self-inflicted."
Though most of them had reached the same conclusion, knowing hadn't softened the blow. Satoshi's father barely had time to catch his wife as she fell into him, body convulsing with sobs. He clutched her tight, knuckles white from the effort of supporting her and holding back his own tears.
The children's eyes, however, were dry. Chitanda was clearly having trouble understanding what she had just been told, the shock of the news striking her all the way down to her nerves and leaving her still as a statue. Mayaka appeared ready to break down, but no tears fell. Perhaps she had run out.
Houtarou was never one to cry. Crying wasted such an unnecessary amount of energy and did nothing to relieve his stress. Still, the sheer amount of grief permeating through the room tugged at even Houtarou's heart. He scowled, shoving down the urge to lose control. Instead, a numbness spread throughout his body. If he couldn't feel, then it wouldn't hurt him inside or out.
"Let me see him," he barked out harshly. He hadn't meant to make it sound like an order, but he really couldn't care.
"He's still unconscious," the doctor informed him, but led the way out of the door and down the hall anyway.
The room, like all the rest Houtarou supposed, was unbearably white. Houtarou knew that, if he were awake, Satoshi would hate it. White had never suited him—after all, white was a complete absence of color, and Satoshi was colorful by nature.
Houtarou hoped that would never change.
The stricken boy looked like he just happened to be sleeping in a hospital bed. However, flashes of those terrifying moments in the clubroom reminded Houtarou of reality. Now that he was here though, he didn't have a plan for what he actually wanted to do.
"Oreki?" Mayaka had followed and dragged along Chitanda, who was just starting to react to what was going on.
"I'm going to wait for him to wake up," Houtarou stated suddenly. His words were clear and strong, leaving no room for disagreement.
"Chii-chan's really upset, but once I calm her down—"
"I don't want anyone else to be around when he wakes up."
"What? That's stupid, Oreki; we all need to be there for him—"
"I need to speak to him alone," Houtarou insisted. "I can't let him escape."
Mayaka raised a questioning eyebrow. "I don't think he'll be able to go anywhere for a while. It's more important that we reassure him that we're all here for him."
Houtarou shook his head. "You don't understand—he already knows we're here for him. We see each other every day, and we've expressed on multiple occasions our concern for him. If he had wanted our help, he could have gotten it a long time ago. I have to talk to him while he's vulnerable and that damned mask isn't around."
"That's a horrible idea; you'll hurt him!"
"But it's the only way." In a rare display of tenderness, Houtarou approached the bed and let his hand rest on top of Satoshi's. "I think Satoshi thought he could handle…whatever this was all by himself. Clearly that isn't the case. I've already tried confronting him once. I hope this time he'll actually listen to me and tell me what's wrong."
The smallest member of their club clearly still had reservations, but they died in the face of Houtarou's apparent determination. "I'll go tell everyone your plan and keep them out. I just hope you know what you're doing."
A/N: MY DEEPEST APOLOGIES FOR ADDING THIS TO THE FANDOM. Writing this made me want to cry, but I couldn't help it. It just happened. I love Satoshi; I really do. But he's really easy to pick on in fanfiction ;A; I hope you all enjoyed this rollercoaster of a fic; there's more to come. I want to know what everyone thinks! Please review, even if you hated it :C I have a few chapters worth written already, but I'll wait to hear what you guys think~ Thank you so much for reading ;w;